


Leaders In April

by samworth



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: FDR's death, Gen, Kinch is back, Liberation, Stalag XIII Liberation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samworth/pseuds/samworth
Summary: April 1945 - times were changing - leaders of nations were succeeded, guards became prisoners while prisoners became guards. Through all of it, Colonel Hogan had to navigate his little travelers aid society to stay alive. A Stalag XIII liberation story in the general political climate of April 1945.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 27





	1. Beginning of The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trekkiehood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiehood/gifts).



> _This was written in February and finished in March - before we got to a point where ten years from now another story could be written about Leaders in April. This story only covers leaders in 1945._   
>  _Written for Trekkiehood who asked for a story about the impact of FDR's death on Hogan and his men. Thank you for this challenge or I wouldn't have written a liberation story at all._   
>  _Without a clear location for Stalag XIII there are several possible dates for a liberation. This story uses one that works in context with FDR's death. The news about his death is assumed to be first available in Germany on the next day, the 13th April. For another death of a leader, faster traveling of news is assumed._   
>  _Story is complete in five chapters with ~15K. Posting schedule is every weekday until complete. Now beta read._   
>  _Special thanks to **96 Hubbles** for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own._

_April 5, 1945_

Newkirk pressed his hand on LeBeau's neck to keep him flat on the ground. He had almost missed the patrol. Only at the last possible moment, had he seen the reflection of a gun and stopped.

LeBeau shifted beneath his hand but kept his silence. Apparently, he could feel the trembling of Newkirk's hand. They were huddled in a small dip. The surrounding trees put out their bare branches in a silent prayer to the sky, leaving them without cover. Only the few still-green coniferous trees provided some protection from detection.

A boot squashed a small branch. The sound was louder than Newkirk's racing heartbeat. Fear clenched his chest like a vise. As he didn't dare to take a breath, he could hear his blood pumping, driven faster and faster by adrenaline.

Without making a sound, LeBeau turned his head. Newkirk could just make out his eyes in the pale moonlight. For years, they had done this together. It seemed fitting they also would run out of luck together.

Another footstep sounded from the top of the dip in which they were hiding. It was so near, the man wearing the boot had just to look down, and they would be discovered.

LeBeau smiled at him. An expression Newkirk could only make out in the dark as white teeth in pale moonlight. Despite the smile, Newkirk still felt the racing pulse beneath his hand resting on LeBeau's neck.

They had withstood a capture, interrogations, relocations and a crazy American officer named Colonel Hogan. They had played SS and Wehrmacht officers, they had smuggled traitors out and in, helped downed fliers and so much more. And now, on the last legs of the journey, they would fall. It was both fitting and unfair. But in truth, Newkirk had always held the opinion that they had more luck than judgment.

Now, it was just a question of whether they would go down fighting or trying once more to stay alive. He could try to tackle the guard, giving LeBeau a chance to run. Or they could both fight. Two against one seemed possible. The unnerving silence strained their nerves as even the last of the nocturnal animals had vanished.

A second pair of boots joined the first one. This time a bigger branch splintered. The man in these boots was definitely heavier or carrying more gear than his companion.

Two against two could be done but not without guns. Newkirk remembered his own small handgun in his back pocket where he had placed it to run better. Carrying a gun while running through the dark woods without shooting himself, LeBeau, or alerting the Germans to them, had seemed too much like asking for trouble. Now he wished he would not need to turn around to grab his weapon.

The two guards shifted. They had to be professionals as they were almost silent. "Where to, sir?" A voice asked in perfect English.

Startled, Newkirk forgot his attempt to get his gun, and even LeBeau raised his head until Newkirk pushed him down again.

"We're just going to follow the guys below us," the other man whispered, his voice strangely calm and familiar.

As recognition set in, Newkirk forgot his attempts to keep silent and raised his own head. "Kinch?"

The man in question lit up his flashlight and bathed the whole scene in pale light. "That's me!"

LeBeau cursed in French as he scrambled upwards to hug Kinch in a mix between a boxing match and a friendly embrace.

Kinch just laughed at the French words that probably turned the air blue. Kinch's comrade had taken a step back and had slightly lifted his rifle. At Kinch's signal, however, he lowered the rifle again.

"What are you doing here?" Newkirk had finally found enough air to voice his frustration. "We thought -"

Kinch gave him a knowing smile. He had pressed himself often enough on the wet ground hoping that a patrol would pass and have no dogs with them to know what Newkirk and LeBeau had gone through.

Self-consciously, Newkirk started to remove dirt and old leaves from his uniform. In these times, Colonel Hogan had decided to only use the blackening of their faces but no black clothes. Their uniforms could buy them time to explain their faces, but without the uniforms they would be shot dead before they opened their mouths.

"I need to talk to the colonel," Kinch said instead of answering the question as he shoved LeBeau gently but firmly away. "And good to see you both. I was worried as we hadn't heard anything from you for the last few weeks."

"We lost part of the radio and couldn't get the necessary parts to repair it," Newkirk reported out of habit. "What are you doing here!" he repeated, finding it too unreal that he faced Staff Sergeant Kinchloe again after London had ordered him back a few months ago.

"I'll explain in the camp. Corporal Malone," he said and nodded to his comrade. It was both an introduction and the beginning of an order. "Let's go." He shut off his light and turned. Vanishing into the night as the big silent cat Kinch usually was, Newkirk and LeBeau had to scramble to follow him. Corporal Malone brought up the rear.

* * *

Hogan paced the room, along the table, the row of beds, to the door to his quarters, two steps behind the oven and again back to the table. Then he turned and walked the same route again.

"What's taking them so long?" Carter asked. He sat on his bunk, trying to fix his socks for the hundredth time. There was more darning thread than sock, but Carter was determined to have socks without holes on the day of liberation.

"Maybe they ran off and joined our boys," Baker suggested only half in vain. Hogan had never had so many volunteers as he had for this mission. No matter how dangerous it was to be out as the German front line was breaking down, they all wanted to know how near the advancing American forces were. In the end, he had chosen Newkirk and LeBeau for their experience in the woods and their unlikely desire to join the U.S. Army.

"Maybe they ran into trouble and needed to make a detour," Carter proposed. Suddenly, he jerked his hand away and grimaced in pain. "Ow!" He put his bleeding finger in his mouth where he had nicked himself with the threading needle. "They could," he continued, speaking around his finger, "be in trouble."

Hogan stopped and glared at his man. "If your next question is if we go after them, the answer is no." He resumed his pacing. He should have withstood the desire to know how long till the end. If something happened to Newkirk or LeBeau it would be his fault. He cursed his curiosity. There was a reason they had ceased all activity. With the nearing front line, they didn't only face the breaking down of German forces but also the danger of friendly fire. Nobody should be out running around in the dark in combat zone.

Finally, the eagerly awaited knock sounded from below. Hogan, Carter and Baker stormed to the bed where their tunnel entrance was located. He glanced to Olsen at the door and waited until he got the all-clear signal before he opened the bed entrance.

Grinning from side to side, Newkirk poked out his head and climbed up. His face was smeared and his uniform dirty, but he seemed delighted.

Hogan dared to breathe deeply. "Good news?" he asked instead of demanding what had taken them so long. For this there would be another time later.

"Oui, mon colonel," LeBeau climbed out behind him.

"You won't believe who we found," Newkirk said, and his smirk got even wider.

Running out of patience fast, Hogan crossed his arms and opened his mouth just as he caught a glimpse of a third man climbing up. "Kinch!" A subdued but unmistakable cheer sounded through the barracks.

Newkirk threw his arm across Kinch's shoulder. "Did I promise too much? Our dearest radio man has come back and brought everything we needed."

Hogan raised an eyebrow.

Kinch shrugged one shoulder. "We didn't know why you didn't answer. There were several possibilities, but a broken radio could be fixed, and so I grabbed what usually breaks and here I am."

Shaking his head, Hogan couldn't believe his eyes. "You came just to bring us radio parts?"

A dark shadow crossed Kinch's face. "No, the radio parts are just additional. I'm here on behalf of SHAEF to get new information. After we'd lost radio contact, we had to assume the worst."

Hogan could imagine the long faces and the dreary atmosphere back in London in the decision level of the Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force. Losing somebody so near the end was an impossible thought and yet it happened daily.

"Do you want a cup of bad coffee?" LeBeau asked and grabbed a cup for Kinch who readily took it and sat down at the table. The simple move had a calming effect on the room, and everybody returned to their seats, eagerly awaiting to hear what Kinch had to say.

"So, what did you do the last few months? We haven't heard from you since London ordered you back," Carter inquired.

"Oh, you have heard from me; you just didn't know it." He shot Hogan a conspiratorial smirk.

"Were you successful?"

Slowly, Kinch nodded. He had been the only one listening in on the conversation of a double spy and his German handler. Without more information, London had ordered Kinch back to identify the culprit by his voice. Hogan had fought the order, despite being proud of his radioman, but had been unsuccessful. And so, Kinch had returned to London to listen to endless conversations, spending hours walking around trying to find the one voice. It had been the proverbial needle in the haystack, but apparently he had found the traitor after all. "It's out of our hands now."

Hogan snorted. This was a nice way to say that they had all the information but were waiting to act on it; for what was anybody's guess.

"Does this mean you're back for good?" LeBeau asked.

Lowering his head, Kinch hid his small smile that tugged at his lips. A cloud of happiness engulfed the room at the question. Everybody had missed Kinch the last few months. "No, I'm only here to find out if you're still good and how fast we need to direct our troops to you." Kinch took a sip and swallowed the hot drink.

"We can hear the fighting. How near are you actually?" Hogan asked while he put his leg on the seat and rested his elbow on his knee.

"Since April 2, we've been advancing to Nuremberg, and we're trying to liberate as many POW camps as we can. Just today, we reached both Oflag XIII-B and Stalag XIII-C."

"How are they?"

Kinch worked his jaws without answering. "Better than feared, worse than expected," he finally put in words what was on his mind.

"Klink is still his old grumpy self, but not worse." Hogan accepted a cup of coffee LeBeau offered him and took a long sip. "There hasn't been any threat of shootings."

"Lucky you," Kinch whispered. Somehow Hogan was disappointed that Kinch didn't use the first plural personal pronoun; he could have said 'us'. But Kinch seemed to be far away. "There's nowhere else to relocate," he said, and looked up to Hogan, "or you all would be on a forced march to another camp and I would have been too late."

Suddenly, Hogan realized that it had been Kinch who had pushed for this mission to check on them, but nobody in London would authorize a mission just to check. There had to be an official reason. "What are you really doing here?"

"Talking to you, sir," Kinch stated, but the confusion came clearly though his voice and expression.

"I'm sure you didn't swim from London to here to visit," Hogan clarified.

"Right, I'm attached as a special advisor to the U.S. 14th Armored Division. We're here to liberate every camp we can find."

Hogan smirked. Of course, Kinch would find a way to get himself attached to the Liberators. "And what does a special advisor do?"

Kinch chuckled. "Besides going through German paperwork? Mostly standing around and listening in on interrogations and conversations. Somehow Germans are always so surprised when they realized that I speak German." LeBeau offered Kinch a hand in congratulation who accepted it eagerly. Even Carter grinned. It was a small consolation, but it helped - rubbing in their own stupidity.

"What do you mean with 'you liberate every camp you can find'? Doesn't London know where we are?" Newkirk questioned and pulled out one of his last cigarettes. The last Red Cross packages had never arrived, and cigarettes were rare now. Only the coming liberation kept foul-tempered men from living out their need for cigarettes and openly fighting about them.

"We know where the POW camps are," Kinch said and looked away. "But there are more." It was a loaded statement.

"What options do we have?" Hogan asked to get the conversation back on track. If Kinch was only here to visit, then they had to cut the meeting short or he wouldn't be able to get back to his unit in the cover of the darkness.

"If needed we can use the advance units to build another pontoon bridge to cross the river and be here in two days with the tanks. If not, we'll advance south and come here with the main troops in ten days; fourteen days at the latest."

Ten days was a long time to wait. It provided enough opportunities for things to go wrong, but Hogan also knew that if nothing happened then they could wait ten days. They were all well-fed, didn't have to deal with sickness, and the ten days would allow their troops to advance much further south. If the Allied Forces came here now, then they would have to deal with the liberated prisoners and the newly taken German prisoners. It would bind up important resources.

"Tell them nothing has changed."

"What!" Newkirk and LeBeau argued. "You can't-"

"Other people are in more urgent need to see a few tanks. We have a radio." Hogan glanced to Kinch. "We do have a radio, right?"

Kinch smirked. "I know my baby. I can repair it." Then Kinch glanced over to Baker before he ruefully smiled and looked down. "Or I can give Sergeant Baker the right parts, and he'll repair it."

Newkirk and LeBeau stared at Hogan furiously while Carter glanced at his socks. "My socks have to survive another ten days?"

Nobody was surprised as this statement was met with a swift but soft slap against the back of the head by Newkirk. "Blimey! We could have gone home in two days, and he is worried about his socks." And with that the impromptu meeting ended.

"I'll be back!" Kinch said as he disappeared in the tunnels again, followed by Baker. Sergeant Malone had been staying down there the whole time, keeping watch where there wasn't something to watch. But keeping watch was a better excuse than being so curious that he couldn't wait to check out the whole tunnel system.

"Well, fellows, we now have a date for our liberation." Hogan clapped his hands together before he fled to his quarters, for once happy to be able to shut the door and hide from the looks he was receiving from his men. It was the right decision. For a POW camp, they had it good. But he couldn't blame them for being angry, nonetheless.

A lot of things could go wrong in ten days.

* * *

_TBC_


	2. The Last Gasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to **96 Hubbles** for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you for your interest and kudos!

_April 8, 1945_

LeBeau stared at his stove. For years, he had stood next to it and stirred whatever they had found or Newkirk had stolen for their meals. At first, his aim had been to create something edible. Then Hogan had come, and his priorities had changed. This stove had become an opportunity to challenge himself: to create real food and a higher cuisine with nothing. His passion had become both his anchor in this gruesome reality and a way to get information. He could fight as well as the next man, but with a cooking spoon he could work magic.

"Well? Finally recognizing that English fare is superior to French cuisine?" Newkirk asked while he leaned against the bedpost, an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a wide smirk on his face. He still mistrusted the supposedly nearing liberation and was rationing his smokes.

Irritated, LeBeau glared up from his task and stared at his friend. "If I couldn't teach you some cuisine culture in the last few years, then I have to declare you a lost cause."

Newkirk snorted. "You mean I survived your cooking the last few years," he said, stumbling over the long timeframe, but he recovered fast and continued, "and therefore proved that a true Englishman won't succumb to things a Frenchman calls food."

The well-aimed words hit their target. LeBeau narrowed his eyes and growled. In his right hand he still held the stirring spoon - an easy and efficient weapon, that LeBeau knew how to wield well. He raised his arm and –

A hand grabbed his wrist. "I'll miss this," Hogan said, as he pulled LeBeau back. "An honest debate between the different European cuisines." Hogan freed the spoon from LeBeau's hand and used it to taste LeBeau's latest creation. "Delicious! I won't miss this place, but I will miss your cooking."

Newkirk mumbled something that sounded like 'officers' or maybe 'Yanks'. But LeBeau didn't need to understand the word; Newkirk's face said it all. Hogan's siding with LeBeau smoothed ruffled feathers and LeBeau turned away after a last scathing glare at Newkirk.

"All right," Hogan started, in hopes of finishing his interference, but broke off as suddenly a commotion right outside the wooden wall interrupted him.

Without hesitation, Hogan darted to the door and stormed outside. With the door open, Carter's clear voice drifted in and LeBeau froze. This wasn't the way Carter normally sounded. The voice had yelped in a shrill and yet small tone. Suddenly, LeBeau identified the sound - this was the way somebody cried out when he was in pain. Apparently, Newkirk had come to the same conclusion, and they almost collided in their haste to follow the colonel outside.

"Stop!" Hogan ordered in his best voice - the voice he had used to command a bomber crew in combat, where you couldn't hear anything over the roaring of engines and only a trained voice could make itself known.

LeBeau rounded the corner just in time to see a German guard raise his rifle to bring its butt down on Carter's shoulder. Carter was already on the ground holding his shoulder and ducking his head away from the assault.

The guard hesitated at the loud order, and Hogan used the hesitation to reach out with his hand, aiming for the gun.

Schultz hurried over, coming to a halt next to his man, gaping at the scene with an open mouth.

LeBeau fell to his knees and scrambled to his friend, pulling Carter closer to him and away from the guard. While LeBeau only had eyes for Carter, the American sergeant kept his eyes glued to the German guard.

"Schultz!" Hogan growled, while more and more prisoners and guards alike came over. "Do something!" Schultz's hand still hovered near the rifle, not making any move to disarm the guard - a move that could get even him shot - but also not allowing the German to keep wielding it as a truncheon.

Staring at Schultz, LeBeau didn't dare to look down as he tried to pull Carter further away. So, he failed to see when he touched Carter's injured shoulder. The resulting yelp served both as warning and stop signal.

"Schultz!" Hogan's voice rose, fueled by the pain-filled sound one of his men had made.

"Corporal Schneider, get back to your post. I'll deal with them!" Schultz ordered.

The corporal in question tensed even further before he shot the German sergeant a dark look. But Schultz refused to back down. He kept still until Corporal Schneider ripped his rifle away from Hogan's hand and stalked back to his post.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said again, and shifted in place while he stared at Hogan with wide open eyes. "I do not know what to do! You have to keep your men in line!"

Hogan worked his jaw without forming words, while LeBeau still knelt next to Carter with his hands hovering over his body, afraid to cause pain again.

"Carter?" Hogan asked. It could mean anything. What happened or are you okay? LeBeau glared at the colonel, who didn't even see it because he had his eyes fixed on the German sergeant.

"I'm fine, sir," Carter answered. But as Newkirk and Baker pulled him up, he jerked again, and a pitiful sound left his lips despite his attempts to keep them pressed together.

Finally, Hogan turned to eye Carter.

"I was just walking. I don't know what happened," Carter said, his face and voice earnest and somehow pleading for understanding. LeBeau scowled. The Germans wouldn't get anything from him again. Ever. It didn't matter what Colonel Hogan would ask or why, he, Corporal Louis LeBeau would refuse. Not after what they had done to his friend.

"Schultz," Hogan said and turned his face back to the German guard. "Do something about this Corporal Schneider. This is the third time in two days." Hogan lowered his voice and stared at Schultz with hard eyes. "Do something or I'll take care of him."

Schultz shivered under the glare and implied threat that Hogan's voice carried across.

"But, but," Schultz stammered, "I know nothing. Nothing." Helplessly, Schultz pointed to the Kommandantur, where Klink had barricaded himself. "Colonel -"

"You are the sergeant of the guard. If Colonel Klink feels unable to stay on the job, then you have to report this to either Berlin or Burkhalter. Or you have to deal with these problems yourself until he feels well again." Hogan's voice was like ice; even LeBeau shivered. He could almost bring himself to feel sorry for Schultz; but only almost. "If neither of you can bring this to an end in the right way, I'll have to take up the slack." Hogan turned on his heels and marched off. His men, supporting a groaning Carter, followed him.

* * *

_April 10, 1945_

Baker enjoyed the sun on his face and the remarkable mild weather.

"Can you hear it?" Newkirk asked, as he played with his last cigarette. It was always his last; even Baker knew that Newkirk had already smoked two of his so-called last cigarettes, but whenever somebody asked if he had some to spare, it was always his last.

"Hear what?" LeBeau asked and looked up from the washing of their dirty clothes. They had postponed their wash-day time and time again until it had been clear that they would have to do it once more as prisoners.

"The cannons," Newkirk answered and indicated with his head to an area far outside the fence.

"Those are not cannons," Carter argued. The area around his left eye and the whole left side of his face had become an impressive array of colors.

"Fine, then heavy artillery." Newkirk hadn't stopped picking fights with the other men, but even he had trouble trying to act angry around Carter, who after the run-in with the German guard always cringed whenever somebody raised his voice.

Carter closed his eyes and listened intently with a tilted head. "I don't think it's artillery either, more like a tank gun."

"Tanks?"

Now Carter had the attention of everybody around him. Baker also tensed up.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure."

"A German or one of ours?" Colonel Hogan asked, the pretense of merely lingering around the barracks gone.

"Hard to tell," Carter responded and opened his eyes. "Both sides have developed new types since I've been here."

Carter said it as a matter of fact, but it still hit the men around him like a punch. A lot of things had happened since they had been imprisoned here. New tank designs were the least of their problems. They had lost and gained family; some guys had become a father and hadn't yet had the chance to see or touch their baby. They had missed weddings and funerals. Life-changing things had happened while they had been stuck in a yard with a fence and cold wooden barracks with nothing to do but wait for the world to come to them. The additional sabotage or travelers' aid work had helped; but was still only a small band-aid on a deep wound.

"Take a guess," Hogan requested.

"It doesn't sound like the heavy German tank guns. So, I guess it's one of ours."

"Yes!" Newkirk said, balling a fist while Baker shared a small smile with LeBeau.

"How near?" Hogan leaned forward. Outwardly, he tried to pretend he was only asking a simple question, but not even a master at body language like Colonel Hogan could completely hide the tension and anticipation.

Carter screwed up his face. "Pretty far away."

"But we can hear it far better than yesterday!" Newkirk uttered his protests before Baker could even finish digesting his disappointment.

"Yes, but it's down to good weather, wind and so on," Carter mumbled. "So, they seem nearer. We also can hear the trains far better today too."

Hogan leaned back and hid his sigh in a deep breath. "Then I better finish writing my letter home, or my Mom is going to be angry."

Baker chuckled and Carter cracked a one-sided smile. Only Newkirk and LeBeau seemed completely defeated by the realization.

"And I don't want to hear for the rest of my life how I failed to keep her properly informed," Hogan continued while he kept Newkirk and LeBeau in his line of sight. "Oh, come on, what's with the gloomy faces? They are nearer every day. It's just a matter of -"

"Days," LeBeau sneered. "We know. A matter of days."

Newkirk threw down his last cigarette and mumbled something. They couldn't understand his words, but his expression made it clear so that not even Colonel Hogan asked him to repeat it. Then he bent down to retrieve his smoke, carefully cleaning it from the dirt of the ground. Maybe it really was his last one.

Baker didn't dare to voice his thoughts. A matter of days should be a walk in the park compared to waiting for years, but he hadn't been doing this for years and therefore he shouldn't judge. His mom had raised him like this. Don't judge if you haven't done and lived through the same. But he also couldn't take the dejected shoulder drop and aimless washing LeBeau did. "What are you going to do first? After the tanks rolled in?"

Newkirk perked up. "Beer and girls! Get back to London and into a real pub."

LeBeau paused. Then he closed his eyes and smiled. In moments like these, Baker missed Kinch as he would have been able to make out the French words LeBeau whispered as if he was speaking a prayer. Maybe it was a prayer. Baker was used to going to church in simple wooden churches. But after he had come to Europe, and he had been in one of these old cathedrals, he had learned that a building itself could be impressive. One of his comrades had always been worried that a few of the 'most important' buildings could get destroyed in this war - Notre Dame in Paris or the Cologne Cathedral, for instance. The last Baker had heard these century-old buildings were still standing.

"Soon," Hogan said, interrupting Baker's musing. "Soon, we'll all be back doing what we wanted to be doing before this maniac threw the world in chaos." It was the right thing to say, but it still couldn't lift the dark shadows off LeBeau and Newkirk's faces.

"Beer and girls, Newkirk? Didn't you have this every other week here?" Baker asked with an innocent smile that wasn't innocent at all.

"I'm talking about a real pub, not this bad copy you find in Germany." This sounded more like the grumpy but real Newkirk they all knew and liked.

"They don't even know how to make wine!" LeBeau threw in. "It's an offense what they call food. They should get court-martialed just for this."

Finally, the tense atmosphere eased. Colonel Hogan's smile turned real and Carter relaxed again. This was normal.

"But the girls," Newkirk mused while LeBeau sighed, "Marya."

One word and Hogan's smile abruptly cleared off his face. Baker didn't have to deal with this woman a lot, but it was an undisputed agreement in this camp that she was more trouble than she was worth.

"Carter?" Baker prompted the blonde sergeant before the Russian woman's uttered name could destroy the good mood again.

"I'm not sure," Carter answered slowly. "I had beer, I had girls and I had you guys. I'm not sure what I'll be returning to. I'm not even sure if I still have a home to return to. I'd thought I'd get back to Mary Jane and marry her, but now ..."

In the distance, another explosion could be heard. The German guards jerked and nervously watched the front gate. It wasn't only the prisoners who expected the liberation every minute. The Allies' triumph would be the Germans' defeat.

"Don't worry Carter, you'll find your place," Hogan consoled Carter, and then turned away. Some topics were too heavy to discuss moments away from liberation. "Baker?" Colonel Hogan's glance now turned to him.

Baker swallowed hard. After the experience of this camp, he wasn't sure if he even wanted to get back - back to a life in second row where not his knowledge and experience but his skin color mattered. But this wasn't the time for dark thoughts like this, and he pushed them away. "I'll go to town and visit the Hofbrau."

"But we were there often enough. Why would you -" Carter asked. A well-timed elbow to his sore ribs stopped him from blurting what was clearly on his tongue. "Ow!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You have to excuse my mate. He hasn't yet met a house he wasn't allowed in because of ..." Newkirk paused and Baker could see him shifting through different expressions, "... reasons. Idiots."

Baker couldn't decide if he really wanted to compare life stories with Newkirk. The British corporal disclosed his background the moment he opened his mouth, but Baker could not hide his skin color - he paused, suddenly remembering his mentor. Nobody had suspected anything whenever Kinch had used the telephone to issue German orders. His German had been perfect ,enabling Kinch to understand ; it had been so good that even London had to order him back. Slowly, Baker started to smile. He would follow Kinch's lead until the world had to acknowledge his talents and not his skin color. Maybe change could be possible; after all Colonel Hogan had already eliminated lines that couldn't to be crossed before.

"Oh, I didn't want -" Carter started, trying to stumble an apology. It was heartfelt and true and yet useless.

"It's fine," Baker interrupted him. "It's just that I haven't been there to enjoy a good beer and the girls yet. But I want to boast back home with having drunk German beer."

"It's a date," Hogan said and clapped his hands together. "We'll all go together to the Hofbrau for beer and girls."

Baker smiled and nodded in agreement. Yet, he didn't believe for one second that this would happen. But a lone a visit to the Hofbrau could work. After the liberation, the freedom of this camp would be swallowed by American laws again. President Roosevelt's New Deal had changed things, but in the end FDR had still refused to support federal anti-lynching legislation, even if he had called lynching murder. Words were on thing, changing laws was another. Baker knew this. But if acts and words were possible, so were changed laws.

Kinch had achieved something nobody would have thought possible before, and Baker would follow in his footsteps. Suddenly, he couldn't wait for the liberation. Maybe the end of the war and the realization about the contribution Afro-Americans had made were enough for FDR to support a change of laws.

* * *

_April 13, 1945_

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, marching into the barracks as if he owned them. In a way it was true, but still, so near the liberation it seemed inappropriate.

"Sergeant Schultz," Hogan answered, acknowledging the German guard without looking up from his book. Since the end was near, and they could already hear it, a lot of their nice banter had disappeared and every side stuck to their own. The nearing front had it made necessary that London kept radio silence. Now they only had the BBC to listen to, but without enough time to drop down in the tunnel doing so had been difficult. The German guards had timed their inspections to the BBC news, effectively preventing a reliable and trustworthy report about how the war was going. Or maybe the German guards just wanted to know themselves and therefore hoped to hear a transmission.

"The commandant wants to see you," Schultz reported as the door clicked shut behind him. Then he made a face. "And he is in a good mood."

"In a good mood?" Hogan asked as he straightened up and closed his book. It was after all only alibi-reading. After the liberation, he would have to have a good story as to what he had been doing in camp. Reading and planning seemed like a good answer. But people who knew him would also find out that he had no new knowledge at all - hence the forced reading to broaden his knowledge.

"Maybe the war is over?" Carter suggested. As if he had hit the light switch, the dull mood in the barracks vanished and a hopeful murmur erupted.

"Or maybe we're getting new Red Cross packages," Schultz said, glancing meaningful around at the men. It seemed he missed the necessity of the prisoners having to bribe him even more than the men missed the opportunity to get out.

"Well, let's see what he wants," Hogan said and stood up. Somehow, he could not imagine that Klink was in a good mood for any of the proposed news. Instead, Hogan tried to steel himself for whatever Klink had found to rejoice in. Glancing around at his men, he only found smiling and happy people expecting good news. In moments like this, he missed Kinch more than words could tell. Losing his second-in-command had been the hardest blow to his operation, no matter how useful his knowledge for London had been or how happy Hogan had been that London finally had to look past skin color.

Hogan followed Schultz across the compound. The weather was surprisingly warm and dry - good weather for an advance. In the distance, he could hear the wildlife and further away, if he really tried to hear it, even the sound of heavy artillery.

Schultz knocked against the door and opened it with more force than necessary. "Herr Kommandant, Colonel Hogan," he announced, making a more formal report and entry than he'd had done in the past.

"Colonel Hogan!" Klink jumped to his feet and circled around his desk, the smirk already firmly plastered on his face.

"Colonel Klink." Hogan acknowledged the man in front of him even as he had to fight against a feeling of nausea in his stomach. Klink was not in a good mood, Klink was gloating. And these days that couldn't mean anything good.

"That would be all, Sergeant Schultz. Please, return to your duties," Klink dismissed Schultz, who slunk away with dropped shoulders and a disappointed expression. He had seemed eager to witness another fight with words.

Hogan watched him go, knowing that this time he would have actually been happy to have the guard with him. Schultz was always available for use as shield until he could recover from whatever blow Klink had prepared for him.

"The weather is nice, isn't it?" Klink started and rubbed his hands together with glee.

"Klink, you haven't called me to talk about the weather." Hogan balled his fists and dared to refuse the German the rank and respect he was owed by protocol.

"No, but it's springtime - time for a new beginning." Colonel Klink didn't even seem to hear the subtle undertone stuffed with its belittling attitude.

"You want to hand over the camp to me?" Hogan asked in clarification and to stop Klink's gloating.

"No!" Klink dropped the act and straightened up as he marched around his desk until he was again behind and Hogan still in front of it. The desk served as a clear line between both sides. "You probably listen intently to your radio and whatever news you can hear."

Hogan's corner of the mouth twitched before he drew his face into a bitter smirk. "I don't want to insult your intelligence and deny it."

The clouds above Klink darkened. Scowling, he finally seemed to hear the impertinence. "Well, apparently you haven't heard one item of news yet."

"General Motors developed a flying car and you bought one for me?"

"No!" Klink shook his fist before he recovered his act of a well-respected officer. A role he usually failed in playing, or maybe his fellow actors refused to play as if he was the king. "Your president, Franklin D. Roosevelt, is dead. He died yesterday."

Hogan had prepared himself. He really had, but this was nothing short of a knock-out hit. For a moment he forgot how to breath.

"And with him the Allied Forces are already falling apart." Klink grinned. "Now you're speechless. It's only a matter of time until Stalin and your forces will be fighting against each other and you will seek peace with us." He pointed to his radio. "Goebbels had said this. You will need our help against the Soviets! So, Colonel Hogan, there won't be a liberation any time soon. It's back to business as usual in the hardest POW camp in all of Germany."

Normally, Hogan would have countered a sentence like this with 'or what's left of Germany' but this time he had neither the presence of the mind nor the desire to prolong the talk. He kept his silence.

"Dismissed!"

Hogan couldn't get out of the office fast enough. In his haste to get away, Hogan hurried past Schultz who just had time to climb to his feet. Before he could open his mouth, Hogan was already gone. He needed verification from a trustworthy source. He needed… Hogan almost stumbled over his own feet.

If this was true, he needed something and couldn't even say what it was.

* * *

_TBC_


	3. Death of A Leader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta read. 
> 
> Special thanks to **96 Hubbles** for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.

_April 13, 1945_

Carter looked out of the door. He didn't really have to keep watch as there was no danger if a German guard dropped by now, but he wanted to be the first to know when Colonel Hogan would come back. Like the radio, their tea pot had also suffered damage. Kinch hadn't been able to fix it in the few hours before he'd had to return to his unit, and so they had no way to listen in. Instead, they had to wait.

"I think Colonel Klink wants to know when to change guards," Baker said and then snorted. "If you think about it - we'll be the guards for the guys that are our guards now."

"At least we know how to run a prison camp," Newkirk added but with such malice in his voice that Carter had to look across his shoulder. The expression on Newkirk's face left Carter with the knowledge that they shouldn't act as guards, no matter how short.

"Oui," LeBeau agreed, and sounded as cynical. "We know all the tricks."

"But maybe we should destroy our tunnels before we hand over the camp."

"Or not," Newkirk said and chuckled. "Think about it - old Klink suddenly finds out what we have done right below his nose." Everybody joined in the chuckle, and Newkirk added a few expressions how Klink would stare in shock at the discovery.

Carter laughed out loud before he looked back outside and froze. In the distance, Colonel Hogan was on his way back, but somehow he didn't look right. His shoulders were dropped, and he dragged his feet across the ground. Before Carter could warn the still laughing guys, Hogan had reached the door and Carter opened it wide for him.

The laughter fade away and suddenly Carter knew how the colonel looked - he looked as if somebody had died.

Silence descended on the room and you could hear the shuffling of feet in the sudden quiet.

"What happened?" Newkirk was brave enough to ask.

Colonel Hogan looked around the room and blinked. He seemed to realize just now that he had come to a halt.

"Bad?" LeBeau approached the colonel.

Bad could mean a lot of things. Maybe some one in his family had died, or something else had happened.

Hogan swallowed hard. "I -" he broke off as his voice gave out. After clearing his throat, he tried again. "I need to check something." The longer he spoke the clearer his voice became again. He straightened up and strength returned to his body language. "Baker, I need to talk to London. Radio still working?"

Sergeant Baker shifted in place. "We have saved power for emergencies. It should work. But -"

"This is an emergency," Hogan declared and went over to the bed to climb down into the tunnel. Carter followed and with him went Baker, Newkirk and LeBeau. Hopefully, some other guys would take over his duty to watch the door. Now there was a tunnel open and they needed to watch.

As Carter reached the radio room, Baker was already raising the antenna. "You need to make it short. We don't know if -" If a radio detector was near or if a German unit was trying to listen in or trying to locate them. it was highly dangerous. Whatever the colonel needed to discuss with London had to be really important.

"I'll be quick," Hogan assured him. Nervous energy poured off him, and he paced along near the tunnel wall. LeBeau muttered in French and Newkirk tried his best to appear nonchalant but Carter could see how he clenched his fists. Only Baker seemed unaffected by the mood, and calmly he prepared the radio.

"Papa Bear calling London," Hogan said. Then he looked up and seemed to suddenly seemed reluctant to talk to London in their presence. But before he could send them away, London answered.

"We hear you, loud and clear. Over." With the moving frontline it was impossible to verify a voice on the radio, they had to be careful not to give information to the wrong side.

"Need verification. Who is the Commander-in-Chief for the U.S. Armed Forces? Over."

Startled, Baker looked up. LeBeau raised an eyebrow and Newkirk straightened up. Both seemed confused by the question, but Carter was quite alarmed. The commander-in-chief would be the president of the United States of America - Franklin D. Roosevelt. But why would Hogan need to ask a question like this? Maybe it was a special code and -

"Commander-in-chief is Harry S. Truman. Over."

Hogan seemed to crumple down, biting his lip. Slowly, he lowered the microphone. "Understood. Over and out." Hogan signaled Baker to cut the line and to power down the radio.

Newkirk and LeBeau looked as confused as Carter felt but at least they weren't trembling like Baker who needed two attempts until he had disconnected the right lines.

"Sir?" Carter asked. "Why did they give you the name of the vice-president?" Carter may have been unpolitical, but there were a few things even he knew. Even in a German POW camp he had taken pride in learning and following the last election and its result.

"Vice-president?" Newkirk muttered and glanced around the room as if the answer to his question would jump out of the shadows at any moment.

Carter opened his mouth to explain this to his European friends just as Colonel Hogan finally found his voice again:

"President Roosevelt is dead."

Newkirk and LeBeau maybe still wouldn't understand American politics, but the look of alarm that passed over their faces was telling in that it showed they understood what this meant.

"That can't be," Carter said and had to sit down. "I wanted to vote for him. I had already decided - in the next election I would be home and old enough and then -" He stopped talking as he caught Newkirk's disbelieving glare and Hogan's unreadable expression. Self-consciously, he lowered his gaze. He had really thought about who he had wanted to vote for. In 1940 he hadn't been able to vote and in 1944 he also hadn't been able to - both for completely different reasons. But in the next election he was sure -

"Get me the hut chiefs," Hogan suddenly ordered. His shocked expression had changed to grim determination. LeBeau jumped up and started for the doorway to execute Hogan's orders.

"Sir? Maybe we should keep this information for us. It's only for a few days," Baker proposed. "It would only bring a lot of unrest into the camp."

"I know. But Klink knows it and therefore everybody will know it by the end of the day," Hogan said in a strong voice. "I won't let the German do the telling."

"Sir?" Newkirk hesitated in the doorway. "Does this mean that the United States is leaving us alone? Getting out?" His question made even LeBeau pause.

Hogan barely paused before he shook his head. "No."

"Good."

Only after LeBeau and Newkirk were gone, did Carter spot a new line of worry on Hogan's forehead.

* * *

Hogan paced in front of the table. This was, without a doubt, his most important speech yet. He had thought his most difficult speech would be his attempt to sell the men in the camp on the idea that nobody could escape to make his mission possible, but that had been a piece of cake in comparison.

The main room of barracks two was packed with men and, despite the numbers, it was quiet. Sticky air made Hogan wish for opened windows or doors, but they needed the moment alone.

"The president of the United States of America, Franklin D. Roosevelt, died yesterday evening in Georgia." He had no time to waste words. "By now, you have probably all heard rumors of it. But I wanted to give you the confirmation. According to the Constitution, Vice-President Harry S. Truman has taken over, and has already been sworn in."

In the silence of the room, you could have heard a pin drop.

"We will continue our fight and no battle plans or aims have been altered or dropped. We will fight until we have a complete and ultimate victory." Hogan had no such knowledge, but he believed it with all his might.

He stopped his pacing and straightened up in front of his men. "Great leaders are irreplaceable. Their deaths leave a hole greater than life that cannot be filled. But exceptional leaders are the first and easiest to replace. They are replaceable because they have created a team of people and sworn them to an idea that doesn't need a charismatic and smart leader. Only history is going to tell us whether Roosevelt was a great or an exceptional leader.

"But this thing I do know already, only hours after his death: we will continue to fight because this fight hasn't been Roosevelt's private idea. It wasn't born out of his personal skills or preferences. If it had been for him, we would have entered the fighting far earlier." Hogan knew it was dangerous to say something like that, but he needed to reach the stoic silent men in front of him. He needed to rekindle their fighting spirit in face of this devastating news.

"He was dedicated to the idea to do what is right and acted accordingly. He chose his vice president with this ideal in mind, and did the same when he chose his generals and his officials. And they all now have the duty to continue his legacy.

"That's the beauty of a democracy. It's not based on one family, or a bloodline of rulers or forces that keeps a nation together." Hogan paused and stared at the men, trying to see a spark. "It's based on a shared idea of equality. It doesn't matter who's the president as it's us who build this nation, this Army and this people. Franklin D. Roosevelt has died, but his vision of a free world didn't die with him and it is on us to continue the same way his vice president continues, his generals continue, and his diplomats continue." Finally, a first sign happened as one man nodded in agreement.

"You have followed this lead by agreeing to stay here and suffer mistreatment. You willfully stayed in a prison camp for the greater good. You ate sawdust bread or hungered until London could make another air drop. But to quote the man himself: 'As men do not live by bread alone, they do not fight by armaments alone.'"

Hogan paused, remembering listening to the radio broadcast. The words hadn't impressed him then, but printed words in the next day's newspaper had been burnt in his mind, combined with the old saying that men live not by bread alone, but by the words of God.

"Whenever we felt hunger, we didn't drop dead or stop fighting. because we not only live by bread but also by what we believe in. It doesn't matter how much bread you have if you have nothing you believe in, and without faith you have no base to keep on fighting.

"President Roosevelt had this belief; he wanted freedom- freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want and freedom from fear. He had a vision and we have a vision. That's enough to endure the coming time. We will continue to fight and stay strong until the time for our liberation has come." Hogan looked every man into his eyes. Words failed him as the saw the rekindled passion.

"Any questions?" Hogan asked and had to swallow hard to hide his emotions.

But only murmurs answered him.

"All right. Dismissed."

The improvised meeting dissolved as fast as it had been called. Hogan watched his men slipping back to their barracks to update the rest of the men. He could only hope he had found the right words. But as he glanced at his team and saw the rekindled grim determination, he nodded to himself. Time would tell what kind of leader FDR had been, as time would tell what kind of leader he had been. He just hoped that his men would possess fond memories of him because he had been a good leader.

* * *

_April 14, 1945_

Morning roll call had been conducted at dawn, but by midday Klink had ordered another one.

"Thirteen, fourteen," Schultz counted through the lines. Then he turned on his heel and marched back to the waiting commandant. "All present!" he reported and offered one of his better salutes.

Klink accepted the report but didn't dismiss the formation. Instead, he put on one of his false smiles. "As you probably all have heard by now, the president of the United States is dead."

Hogan was glad that only absolute silence greeted this statement. A minute of silence couldn't have been better suited.

Klink floundered and frowned before he recovered his wits and went on with a script he probably had prepared the whole night. "Without him, the American advance will come to a standstill."

"But we are still coming!" Newkirk sing-songed and pointed at his British uniform.

"Silence!" Klink roared, his superior smile vanishing while a scowl settled on his face. "Soon you are going to need us to defend you from the Soviets. Until then, we don't need to become bigger enemies." Klink leaned back and his smile returned. Apparently, he believed himself to be gracious. "Dismissed."

The formation dissipated and Hogan and his men gathered in front of barracks two.

"Does he really think that we're going to bargain with Hitler?" Baker asked.

"He believes everything Goebbels says and Goebbels is master of twisting everything to make him and his mission look better." Hogan's crossed arms served both as a gesture to dismiss the thought as well as a signal that he really didn't want to talk about it anymore. The smell of the beginning of spring hung in the air and with the sun even a POW camp seemed brighter.

"We could have already been liberated." Newkirk finally said, tired of always having to censor his thoughts.

"Nobody could have known this, right, Colonel?" Carter defended Hogan's decision and questioned him in the same sentence. This was an art Carter had perfected. Making a reasonable proposition and nixing it with a badly flawed execution plan.

"If this had been a known fact, Klink would have used it for a long time." Hogan rubbed at his eyes. "It has been a surprise for the Germans. I don't think anybody even suspected something." Or they had successfully hid it. In times of war, both options seemed possible. People smart enough to spot failing health in a leader, also would be smart enough not to share it, as it would weaken their stance and position in negotiations. And short-sighted people could be easily misled. "But you're right, Newkirk," Hogan continued, "we could be free by now." He clapped him on his shoulder. "But what about the other camps Kinch has reached? Did they need the encouragement more or less than us?"

Newkirk cursed under his breath - both officers in general and one American especially.

"He is right, Newkirk," Baker voiced his agreement. "We at least have a radio, and we know that we won't be forgotten."

"I know. I know," Newkirk grumbled and kicked up the dirt while he stared longingly at the fence. "But I can't stand this any longer. I could be home and not having to -"

LeBeau reached out with his hand and touched Newkirk's shoulder, his fingers digging into his friend's muscles. "C'est la vie." He sighed. "C'est la vie. Just one more day. You have to hang on for just one more day."

"I have done this, Louis." Newkirk freed himself from LeBeau's grip. "I have done it these last six hundred day and counting, as I stopped after six-hundred-and-thirteen. I can't-"

Suddenly, LeBeau's soft voice took on a steely quality. "If you have done it more than six hundred and thirteen days then you can do it six hundred and fourteen days. I stopped counting once I had crossed a thousand days."

"A thousand days?" Carter looked around. "That's awfully long. I mean that as long as I need to ..." He buried his hands in his pocket, tilted his head and followed his thought.

Newkirk screwed up his face, for a moment his argument with LeBeau forgotten. "You think?" he asked irritated. And with that, the temptation of running towards the fence had passed as Newkirk had found a new target for his ire.

* * *

_April 14, 1945_

Hogan waited as Langenscheidt knocked for him at the door. Acknowledging the situation, Klink had decided to send Hilda home. She didn't need to be here for the liberation. Klink had explained to her worried mother but then again, he liked to lie to himself.

"Colonel Hogan wants to see you, sir," Langenscheidt said.

For once Hogan waited outside. He knew how to play this game.

"Send him in," Klink said after a long pause.

Hogan could imagine how Klink was trying to figure out what Hogan could want, and whether to say yes or no, but as Hogan entered the room and saluted nothing of this assumed weariness was visible.

"Colonel Hogan, what do you want? I'm busy." On Klink's desk several files were open and Klink seemed to be engrossed in one in particular.

"I wanted to ask you how you want to change the guards," Hogan said and sat down. Staring at the files, he saw that they were laying the wrong way, forcing Klink to read upside down. That would also explain his narrowed eyes and scowl on his face. So, Klink had just been doing paperwork as an alibi. He could understand that.

"You are planning an escape." Klink threw down his pencil. "You want to escape."

Leaning back and crossing his legs, Hogan showed a lot of disrespect that, for once, Klink was supposed to see. "No, I'm talking about when I take over the camp after your surrender."

Klink spluttered. "My surrender?" He jumped up. The chair fell back and crashed on the floor. "I won't-"

"Colonel Klink," Hogan interrupted him, his voice calm but with a steel undertone. "No matter what your radio says, the American troops are going to be here soon and then you need to have a plan. I just wanted to offer you the possibility that I could take over the camp before the tanks -"

"Out!" Klink breathed fast like he had run a marathon. His face turned darker second by second. "Out!"

Carefully and slowly, Hogan stood up. He had enjoyed the banter with Klink. It would have been a highlight of his day if he hadn't need to come up with a plan in less than a minute. Then it had stressed him, because usually he had liked the German colonel.

"Everything has to come to an end. You cannot choose the ending you want, but you can choose the way it ends." Hogan grabbed the doorknob and pulled it open.

"Out!" Klink repeated, bristling with rage. "Out!"

"Think about it." Hogan walked out with his head held high. "You know where you can find me." He closed the door without glancing back but before he shut it completely, he could hear how Klink threw down the files from his desk. This visit had been unnecessary in the general scheme of things, except for the morale of his men. The ending was already written, but the way down to it had just become harder since their president had died. But nothing would change the end; of that, he just needed to remind his men and Klink.

* * *

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liberation is near, tomorrow the tanks roll in.


	4. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta read.
> 
> Special thanks to **96 Hubbles** for beta reading! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.

_April 15, 1945_

Another day still inside of a prison, Carter almost couldn't take it anymore. The liberation was so near, and he still stood next to and washed his clothes so they could be hung on lines running across the compound. His shoulder and ribs hurt, but it was better than doing nothing. Doing nothing was making him insane. He missed his workbench and his bombs. How he would love to tinker with one of his babies until it created the most beautiful firework. Instead, he scrubbed his clothes once more.

"How often do you figure we need to wash our clothes before they're here?" he asked Newkirk, who was smoking his last cigarette right next to him. Carter wasn't sure how many last cigarettes Newkirk had, but even the last person in camp had finally figured it out that 'last' didn't mean 'single last one'. Apparently, there could be more than one last one. Or so Newkirk had tried to explain to him when he had asked.

"You tell me. How does it sound?"

Carter paused and tilted his head. "Further away. The sound of fighting is moving away."

Newkirk spat on the ground. "That explains the awfully good mood of the Germans."

"But it doesn't have to mean anything," Baker pointed out. He sat on the bench and watched the men playing. Since it was unlikely that London would try to contact them by radio, they also didn't need anybody down in the tunnels. It was time to wait and not time to play games. "Further away could also mean that we are winning and therefore they soon will have time to come here."

"I wish we could go out and help them," Carter said, and thought again about the explosives he still had down in tunnels.

"Or at least blow up some trains or tunnels," Newkirk agreed, and the same dangerous glint appeared again in his eyes as when he had talked about becoming a guard for their guards.

"Bridges. I would even take a mini bridge. Just to do something," Carter said.

"Well," Hogan said coming out of barracks two just in time to hear Carter's last sentence. "If we blow up a bridge, we actually slow down our own guys. They need every bridge they find to be intact." He stopped next to them. "We were lucky to do so much the last few years. Now we have to suffer like all the other POW have had to do."

"I thought that we had it bad with so much to do and all the danger," Newkirk said. Shaking his head, he took a puff from his smoke. "But now I miss the excitement."

"Boredom is the greatest danger in times like these," Hogan agreed. "And that's why we need to be proactive. So, what are the plans until the tanks arrive?" Colonel Hogan got better with the forced optimism the more he practiced. His visit to Colonel Klink had soured the commandant's mood to a point that more or less demanded an hourly roll call, but the more Colonel Klink seethed with anger the better the mood in the ranks of the prisoners.

"We have created a condolences book," Carter reported. "It's not much, but it gives us a place to write down our thoughts." He had made it a point to prepare what he wanted to write, but when it finally had been his turn he couldn't remember what he wanted to write down.

"Sergeant Bernstein is collecting stories about FDR and whatever of his speeches they can remember," Baker reported.

"I remember his one as we landed in Normandy," Carter excitedly told. "He had said -"

"We all listened to that one," Newkirk interrupted him. "But I don't get it. The States are not bombed by the Nazis. And you just had an election. He isn't a George Washington or so, is he?"

Hogan exhaled and shrugged. "President Roosevelt had steered this ship through some tough waters for a long time. And no matter if you agree with his politics or policies or not, he had been a steady figure to agree or disagree with and now you wake up in an uncertain reality."

"But in this uncertain reality you won't turn your back on us, right?" Newkirk asked.

Startled, Carter glanced to Colonel Hogan. He still found it highly offensive that Newkirk could ask something like that, but the colonel didn't seem to take it personally.

"Roosevelt knew what he was doing when he picked his vice president," Hogan said. "When you choose your second in command you have to think about a lot of things. Is he capable of finishing the job after you're gone is one of the most important ones."

Carter nodded to himself. He hadn't even realized it at first. But, according to rank, he should have been Colonel's Hogan relief, yet the colonel had chosen Kinch. Carter had always accepted that, but now he finally understood - Kinch would have been able to finish Hogan's work in a way Carter wouldn't have.

As if he could read Carter's thought, Hogan said: "That's right. I also had to carefully pick somebody. I choose Kinch for that reason."

A weight Carter hadn't even been aware of was lifted from his shoulder and he took a deep breath before he went back to scrubbing his clothes. His shoulder and ribs still hurt, but somehow it didn't pain him so much anymore.

* * *

_April 16, 1945_

"They're here!"

Hogan was out of bed before he had fully registered the words.

"They're here!"

The last few days he had slept in uniform so he could be ready, and it paid off. Only needing to grab his jacket, he was out of his office in a flash.

"They're really here. At the front gate!"

Not even Schultz had ever got them out of the door as fast as this sentence. Hogan was still fumbling with his zipper as he got out of the door. A cold breeze greeted him, but the weather couldn't steal his breath or hurt his skin as he had only eyes for the tank.

Thousands of times, he had imagined this exact moment - a tank coming over the hill and moving towards the front gate without stopping. A Sherman, not a German tank. He had painted the scene in full colors to Klink but not even in his wildest dreams it had been so beautiful. The tank roared loud and ugly and made noises to wake up the dead, but in Hogan's ears not even a symphonic orchestra could play better music. The dawning sun paled in comparison to the beauty of the tank, and to the vehicles and tanks that followed the first one like beads on a pearl necklace. If somebody would happen to notice the tears in his eyes, Hogan would neither deny them nor be ashamed. For a long time, he had waited for this moment. The moment he had paid a high price to achieve.

Forcing his eyes away from the beauty of the tanks, he looked to the men beside him, who had stood with him and supported his crazy mission through thick and thin. Without them, there never would have been an operation called Unsung Heroes.

"They're really here," Carter said next to him, his eyes never leaving the tanks.

"Finally," Newkirk said, trying to sound angry but missing the tone by far. He sounded like he looked - astonished.

The tank roared again, and Hogan's gaze snapped back to the nearing freedom, a freedom brought by tanks. Suddenly, he saw just how small a German soldier appeared next to it. The Sherman rolled down the street still aiming for the gate, and the up-until-now impossibly high towers suddenly seemed to shrink.

Finally, the door of Klink's quarters opened, and Klink appeared on the steps. If a man could age in a matter of seconds, Klink seemed to do it.

This was it.

Hogan took a deep breath. In his mind and soul, he fixed the image of the coming tanks. This was the moment he wanted to retell time and time again. This was the story he still wanted to be able to live through fifty years from now, old and gray. If he could just keep one memory, this was the one. He closed his eyes, verifying that he had fixed the image in his mind. Then he opened his eyes again and strode to Colonel Klink. He had a duty to do.

* * *

"They're here," Carter repeated over and over. Baker nodded numbly. It didn't matter how often Carter repeated it, he would listen to it all day long. He saw it with his own eyes but had trouble believing it.

"It's over. We're free."

Baker knew that it wasn't over, not by a long shot, but maybe they were free. Or at least soon they would be free. Right now, the Germans still had all the guns, but their Karabiner 43s seemed ridiculously small and unworthy compared to the Sherman tanks. The rifles that had been a danger and threatened their life till now, suddenly seemed nothing more than toy guns compared to the real guns brought in by the 14th Armored Division.

Baker watched how Hogan approached Klink, a man who liked to think of himself as an Iron Eagle but now wasn't more than a wet duck. He also seemed to have shrunk. The colonel spoke intently with him. Triumph and defeat stood side by side, and this time there would be no second chance, no last minute change. Finally, Klink nodded, and together he and Hogan went to the front gate. Step by step, Colonel Hogan's stride widened while Colonel Klink seemed to want to take more time for this journey. But the smaller his steps became, the higher he held up his head. On his signal the gate was opened even before the tank had reached it and on the first guard tower a white flag appeared.

Somebody sniffed behind him, freeing Baker from the fight to keep his own emotion in check.

* * *

LeBeau couldn't help himself, allowing the tears to flow freely. It wasn't weeping or anything spectacular, just burning tears that streamed down his cheeks. He had prayed for this moment; he had dreamed of this moment and yet nothing could have prepared him for the moment. Years, he had spent years in this POW camp as a prisoner. What had he done? He had fought for his country and that had been his crime. Fighting against a dark force that had run over Europe, destroying the carefully groomed peace that this continent had created. Like a boot stomping on a small flower, the Nazis had destroyed everything they could reach with their tanks. The flower may have been destroyed, but they hadn't been able to dig out the root. And right below their stomping feet and boots, this root had grown, dug tunnels and prepared its resistance until it was time to break through the surface and bloom again.

"We did it," Pierre said next to him. "We really did it."

"Oui, we did it." No matter how dark the day or how bad the weather had been, they had taken things day after day, never giving up and never losing hope.

Allowing tears to roll down his face freely, LeBeau suddenly found himself laughing out loud. It was a surreal moment as the Germans laid down their guns and the American officers of the 14th Armored Division came over to finalize the surrender and takeover with Hogan and Klink, but LeBeau just laughed. He couldn't stop. Soon, Newkirk joined in despite the strange glares they received.

The Americans had lost their president, but they would never understand what it meant to lose your country. Finally, the Germans were suffering the same.

* * *

Laughing out loud allowed Newkirk to pretend that his eyes were only wet because he was laughing so hard. Around him, most of the men had tears in their eyes, so his tears probably wouldn't have been spotted, but he hadn't cried in joy or relief. He had cried in anger and the laughing had finally allowed him to let go of his anger.

Anger had served him well in the past, carrying him through the first days after terrifying fear had been dulled by the boring routine. He hadn't had any vital information and the Germans were winning when they had taken him. After fear had left him, his new friend anger had moved in and made himself at home. Anger had consoled him: if he couldn't sleep for hunger and cold, it had warmed him from within by burning hotly. It had offered him strength to continue to work no matter the circumstances, and it had held him back when he had wanted to run for the fence no matter the consequences.

But now, on the day of liberation, his friend had left him. The anger waved goodbye as the Sherman tank rolled over the fence, destroying their carefully integrated and designed mechanism to open the fence and to close it again.

The fence fell like ninepins and was crushed by the forces of a Sherman tank.

It would never again serve as a prison wall, never again tempt him to run to it, forfeiting his life for it. With the fall of the fence, his anger and yearning vanished, leaving him broken. But as he looked to the American soldiers on the tanks, lowering their guns, and the nearing truck with the bright Red Cross carrying medics, he suddenly felt a hope and healing that he had never thought possible. Blindly, he grabbed the nearest companion and hugged him before he realized that he had grabbed Carter who was still staring at the display of power in front of him.

* * *

Carter couldn't stop staring at the tanks. Not even Newkirk's unexpected embrace could make him take his eyes off of the scene in front of him. They seemed somehow tinier and less stable than he had imagined. But what they lacked in design, they made up in numbers. More and more soldiers arrived at both sides of the fence, or what remained of it after a tank had crushed it. From the back of the line, an Army jeep rushed along the lines until it crossed the open gate as the first American vehicle.

Cheers and shouts of joy replaced the somber mood and Carter was carried along with the masses to the front gate. He decided he'd rather watch the tanks and swam free of the masses to watch from the sidelines.

"Disappointed?"

Carter swirled around. "Kinch! You came!"

Kinch had jumped out of a second jeep and made his way out of the cluster of people. "I promised we would come."

"Yes, yes," Carter nodded. Being unable to stop grinning, he jumped up and down. "But after -" His smile vanished.

"Roosevelt's death has changed nothing."

"It was -" Carter still could feel the frozen pain and uncertainty about what would happen. It really was just a few days ago, and he still hadn't found his footing again. The world spun too fast for him to keep up with it.

"It was a shock for all of us, but we're still here," Kinch said and grabbed Carter's shoulder. Gently, he squeezed it until Carter looked up into his face. "We're still fighting," he said intently.

Carter nodded. Still fighting. Still winning.

* * *

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N Thank you for reading. Last chapter Monday._


	5. End Of An Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta read. Special thanks to **96 Hubbles** for this! Thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are my own.  
> Thank you for your comments and kudos. I appreciate all your support.

_April 18, 1945_

Kinch stepped up to Colonel Hogan, who looked over the camp from the hills. "We're ready, sir," he reported without waiting for Hogan to acknowledge his presence. After a few years with Hogan, Kinch had had a hard time remembering proper military protocol, making it difficult to survive at London headquarters. Hogan had preferred pragmatic solutions, sometimes without proper planning, and without a proper chain of written orders. It had been almost a culture shock to get back in an environment that only allowed working with written orders.

"The Germans?" Hogan asked, despite the fact that he had had an integral part in the planning.

"The last truck left an hour ago," Kinch reported. Schultz had been on the last one out, carrying them away to a collecting point of German POWs. Hogan had given Schultz a letter, far better than what they had written for him whenever they needed to sell him a story. This hadn't been full of emotions but facts, cold hard facts that would allow Schultz a safe return. Only Colonel Hogan would declare a toy manufacturing company relevant for a peaceful after-war Germany and actually sign it with his real name. Maybe making toys really was important. Either way, it was out of their hands now.

"Carter did it?" Hogan asked without turning around.

Kinch smiled, maybe only for himself, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Who else? I don't think he would have let anybody else do it even if it hadn't been necessary for security reasons." The decision had been made months ago - the camp had to be destroyed as fast as possible. If all traces of their mission were gone, nobody would be able to prove a thing, making it safer for all of them.

"Check finished?" Hogan looked above his shoulder, finally making eye contact.

"Yes. Everybody has left the ground and tunnels." Kinch had been the last one to walk through these tunnels. His feet remembered the ways and turns; he hadn't even needed a flashlight. For one last time, he had checked every niche and every compartment, every hiding space and every corner. "Nothing left," he could report with surety.

With a last farewell look across the compound, Hogan turned slowly around before he started to climb down. "Then let's do it." He clapped Kinch on the shoulder and together they walked down to where Carter, LeBeau and Baker were waiting. They all had the same look, a cross between relief and sadness.

"One last time, Carter," Hogan said and nodded to his bomb expert. "Show us what you can do." Carter knelt down and connected the detonator.

"Newkirk should be here," LeBeau murmured. "He deserved to see this happening."

"First time that I curse the British efficiency," Hogan said. They had evacuated all British prisoners in record time, making it impossible to keep Newkirk around. The order had come so fast, Newkirk had had barely time to grab his stuff and track everybody down that he had owed something to or wanted to say goodbye to in person Then he had jumped on the truck and was gone.

"All right, I'm ready," Carter said.

Kinch looked from the detonator to the camp, following the trails of wires. Every building and every tunnel had been rigged up with enough explosives to completely and utterly destroy every piece of evidence.

"Kinch?"

"It's yours," Kinch said and took a step back. Hogan looked around and Kinch followed his glance. LeBeau seemed to be better than he'd been the last two days, but still not entirely like himself. Or maybe they hadn't ever met the real LeBeau, the one who hadn't had to fight every moment to keep still, to stay calm, to remain alive and to withstand the temptation of the fence. Carter wrung his hands, nervous energy released in fast and useless shifting in place. Baker stood a few paces away, as if he didn't know whether he belonged with the team or was just additional staff. It wouldn't be fair to put the responsibility to destroy the camp on Baker's shoulders. Kinch himself knew that it wasn't his job anymore. He had moved on and had already closed the book and now just had to add an epilogue, the finishing touch to a part of his life.

"All right," Hogan said and nodded. Apparently, he had come to the same conclusion. Without waiting further, he stepped up to the detonator and grabbed the handle. Almost in unison, they looked up and took in a last glance of their camp. They had chosen their jail keeper, they had built the fence, and they had created the rules they had to play by. They had created and filled their own prison, a prison to fight for freedom because the only walls that were insurmountable were the walls in your head and heart.

Kinch tensed up as Hogan pushed down the handle of the detonator.

For a few seconds, nothing happened but then the whole camp blew up in one giant cloud of smoke and fire. It was the end of Stalag XIII and Operation Unsung Heroes. A fitting end.

* * *

"Make sure that the tanks drive a few times across the compound," Hogan repeated. The jeep he was a passenger in was already running and its driver, a young private, seemed eager to start.

After their last act together in this war, everybody had a new set of orders. Carter and Baker joined the other prisoners from Stalag XIII to be processed, getting new paperwork that would show them being prisoner of war but obfuscate the location. If necessary, they could even get a few escape attempts added or removed, whatever was necessary to create a believable file.

LeBeau was already back on his way to France. If Newkirk was lucky, he would be back in London, but more realistically, he'd likely be stuck in another camp until the British supreme command had figured out how to deal with the ramification that this mission had brought onto this single soldier. But at least they had been fast in evacuating their men from the front line, maybe even a little too fast.

"Yes, sir," Kinch repeated dutifully, realizing that Hogan wasn't micromanaging but acting from a case of nerves. "By the time we've moved south, nobody will find any traces of a camp or a tunnel."

"Good, good," Hogan nodded. The driver glanced at the colonel, trying to read between the lines as to whether he could start now. They had to reach the next military base before nightfall, as it would be too dangerous to drive in the dark this near to the front line.

"Good luck, sir," Kinch said and stepped away from the jeep. Stalag XIII may have been destroyed, but they were still attached to this piece of land. Kinch had already been through this; he knew what the colonel would have to get through in the next few days: the nightmares even worse than the ones in camp, the uncertainty, and the startling fear as nothing was as it was used to be. But the colonel would be all right. He had proved to be highly adaptable.

For one last time, and this time properly, Kinch saluted.

Without a word, Hogan returned the salute. No other words were necessary. It contained all of it: thank you for sticking it through, we were so lucky, so long and take care.

Hogan dropped his hand, and his driver used the opportunity and drove off. Slowly, Kinch lowered his hand and relaxed. Then he went back to the area where, once upon a time, there had been a POW camp called Stalag XIII. Shielding his eyes from the low sun, Kinch surveyed the land. He could only see dirt where American tank practiced some maneuvers. In a few months, grass will have grown and then it would be all water under the bridge, forgotten and done. Only in the memories of the men of Stalag XIII would the history would continue to live.

But for now, they had a few more camps to liberate. As the next jeep came around, Kinch jumped up and joined their convoy in the opposite direction of Hogan's travel - into the fight.

* * *

_April 30, 1945_

Hogan stood at the window and looked outside. He had seen prisoners lingering around a compound so many times he should be used to it. But he couldn't get used to see Germans out there as prisoners. He still searched for the French and British uniforms, the familiar faces of Carter and Baker. But he caught only sour and depressed German faces if they glanced up.

Behind him, the commandant of the POW camp fidgeted. "Sir," Major MacDonald started again, "are you sure that this is a good idea?" The man couldn't look more Scottish if he tried. The only thing missing was a kilt and a bagpipe.

"Major," Hogan said, while he turned around to face him, "I just need to talk for a few minutes to one of your prisoners. Nothing else." Unconsciously, he straightened to give his request the additional weight of being a colonel.

"Yes, sir, but," Major MacDonald hesitated before he pointed to the file on his desk, "Colonel Klink has been the commandant of a special Stalag. It doesn't list a name or location but," MacDonald licked his lips, "it also says that a Colonel Hogan had been the highest-ranking POW." He took a deep breath, his fingers trailing along the corner of the desk. "I am responsible for the security and safety of this camp. And your name -"

Hogan narrowed his eyes. Finally, he got what the major was hinting at - that he could be a danger to the safety of his camp and his prisoners. If it wasn't so sad, Hogan would have laughed. "I just need to talk to Klink for a few minutes. Nothing else," he assured the commandant. "You'll get your office back afterwards in prime condition." The joke about blood washing out, Hogan kept inside. No need to make the man even more nervous. If he had learned something from all the years in Stalag XIII, it was that, for a commandant, it wasn't too hard to get the next higher up to issue an order and he really needed to talk to Klink.

"About what -" MacDonald started but was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Colonel Klink is here," his sergeant of the guard, a sturdy man with straight shoulders and telling scars on his face, at least one from a knife fight, reported.

"Send him in," MacDonald ordered.

Hogan tensed up; his muscles tightened. He was free. The times had changed and now Klink was brought to him and not the other way around, and yet he couldn't help himself but to tense up.

Klink entered the room. Despite wearing the same uniform as always, the same boots and his monocle, Hogan almost didn't recognize him. He seemed older, wearier, and nothing like the arrogant Klink Hogan was used to. Hogan knew that the Allies had had trouble having to suddenly care for so many German prisoners, and that housing and food was an issue. That could explain the thin face and the dark circles beneath Klink's eyes, but it couldn't explain that look in his eyes.

"I'll wait outside," MacDonald said.

Hogan tuned in on the conversation just in time to nod and to catch the insecure glare. The major clearly didn't want to leave Hogan alone with Klink but lacked a good reason to refuse a senior officer this request. Who would have thought that he would become the General Burkhalter in this play.

The door was shut with an audible click, yet neither Klink nor Hogan moved.

For years, Hogan had thought about this moment; many nights he had spent dreaming about it and a lot of dark hours in the cooler he had used to make plans for exact this moment. And now the moment had come, and he had no idea where to start.

"Came here to gloat?" Klink sneered, and once again proved to be his greatest ally as this arrogant tone was all Hogan needed to unlock his tongue.

The words were already on his lips: the accusations, the mocking and yes, the gloating, but Hogan looked again and suddenly saw an unsure man, a bumbling idiot desperately seeking approval. Finally, the last layer had been peeled back and Hogan could see Klink for real. A fearful man afraid of his own shadow, seeking a little peace and a lot of approval of his work, of his being, of his existence as Wilhelm Klink. Too bad that he had looked for it in the wrong place.

"No," Hogan forced the word out. He sounded hoarse, as if he hadn't used his voice in a long time.

Klink looked up. His gaze changed. Deep inside, Hogan still saw the man he had shared a drink with, used as an easy and cheap entertainment, and had protected and been protected by him. For a fleeting moment, this man flashed across Klink's face before he settled back on the sneer. "Then why are you here, Hogan?"

"To tell you in person that Hitler is dead. Suicide. Your Fuehrer committed suicide. Admiral Doentiz is now Supreme Commander of the German Armed Forces." He threw the words out callously without regard to his audience.

Klink jerked as if he had been hit. "Dead," he repeated in a dull and lifeless voice. He sounded like the word he had spoken.

"Yes."

Only the voices from outside, the shouts of men and the sound of trucks interrupted the long silence. Like a blanket, stillness had settled on Hogan and Klink, forcing them to remain quiet.

"So, the war is over?" Finally, Klink had found a question he wanted to ask.

"Not yet," Hogan answered truthfully. "But it's only a matter of time."

"And then what?"

Hogan hadn't thought about it this far ahead. Suddenly, he had become one of the foremost experts in dealing with the Germans and his knowledge had been in high demand. He assumed that Klink would remain a POW in a POW camp for a few months and then be sent back home. Hogan knew what he would say at Klink's hearing and that his words, in combination with Klink's rank and age would ensure that the man would get home eventually. But until then ... Hogan couldn't help himself; whenever he was around Klink, he started to plan. "I have a proposal," Hogan found himself saying before he had thought this completely through, before he could stop himself.

"Hogan!" Klink had recognized the tone of Hogan's voice.

Without realizing it, they started to move. Klink stalked around the desk until he had reached the chair and Hogan stopped only as he had settled in position across him. It was their classic standoff position.

"Yes, I need an inside man in this camp."

"Hogan!" Klink seemed honestly indignant. "I won't turn traitor and -"

"Klink, who is the traitor - the one who turned Germany in a junk yard and built camps that -" Hogan swallowed hard. He still could smell and feel this place on his skin no matter how often he tried to wash it off. There was a downside to being considered an expert in everything German. Klink flinched. By now, not even Klink could hide from the truth anymore. "You were once proud of your country. Klink, tell me, are you still proud of it?"

The reflex to agree was on Klink's lips, and they were already parted as Klink stopped. He had always had the willpower of a spineless animal, but to deny the crimes of Germany you had to be either a fanatic Nazi, a sadist who enjoyed it or a proud German unable to give up the futile resistance, the unnerving clinging to the idea that this somehow had to be not what it seemed. Klink had not shown any of this behavior, except maybe the last one as he had defended what was indefensible. Unsurprisingly, he answered, "I am a colonel of the Luftwaffe."

Hogan snorted. Klink was still unable to do for once the right thing for the right reasons. "Then as a colonel of the Luftwaffe, I ask you to find out who in this camp was responsible or participated in war crimes. As commandant of Stalag XIII you looked the other way for a lot of things, but not war crimes." Hogan started to move again, and Klink mimicked him. "It's time to show what a colonel of the Luftwaffe stands for."

"I'm not made for this. Not like you, Hogan!" Klink shook his head. "I am not as stupid as I seemed. I knew you played us and you had a radio and you had a hand in a lot of things that happened around the camp." Klink nodded. "I know this because my camp never had an escape, but it also had never been run like this camp. Now I actually know what a POW camp has to be like."

Hogan smirked. "But you were the commandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. I bet a lot of men will want to talk to you about it. Just remember their names, faces, voices and what stories they tell. I don't ask for anything else." His smirk turned to a grin. "I'm not asking for you to create a military base beneath the camp or run a sabotage ring or whatever Hochstetter had thought I was doing."

"Hogan!" Klink balled his fist.

"Colonel Klink," Hogan said,. "For one last time, trust me and let me play you. Just collect the names and stories as evidence." Klink would do it to help himself, and by helping himself he would also help Hogan and his new mission. Nobody would suspect Klink and Hogan would have access to a mine of information.

For thirty seconds, Hogan only heard his heart beating, the rushing of blood in his veins before Klink nodded in agreement. Neither enmity nor friendship had connected them, but circumstances and chances had, and somehow this base still held with roles reversed. War truly forged the strangest bonds.

Hogan held out his hand and Klink grabbed it and shook it.

They were still shaking hands as Major MacDonald carefully opened the door. Hogan would have a lot of talking to do, but in the end, Klink would once more help Hogan without realizing it because he wanted to help himself. As Hogan opened his mouth to talk this Major MacDonald into his plans, he realized that some things never changed.

* * *

**The End.**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N Thank you for reading!_


End file.
